


A Cup of Kindness

by Topicabo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Mystrade and Friends, A Little Kindness, Cambridge, Christmas, Developing Friendships, Greg's hard luck, Lend Him a Helping Hand, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Pre-Relationship, Put a Little Love in Your Heart, Think of Your Fellow Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topicabo/pseuds/Topicabo
Summary: Help in unexpected places.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 11
Kudos: 136
Collections: 12 Days of Mystrade and Friends





	A Cup of Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

“Well, can’t you look again?”

The clerk grimaced, tapping at the computer keys.

“I’m sorry, but as I said, that room has already been checked into.”

Greg wanted to bang his head against the counter. He settled for scrubbing a hand roughly through his hair. “Come on, I rang you lot nearly three weeks ago! You made me put down a deposit!”

“I realise that, sir. If I could just see your confirmation email, I’m sure we can sort this.”

“What? Confirmation email?” 

The woman paused, glancing up at Greg.

“Yes, all guests receive an e-confirmation after booking with us. You should have been asked for your email address when you were registered.”

“Well – I was,” Greg said, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “But there was never any email. Thought it was because I’d done it over the phone…” 

The woman’s knowing frown didn’t help matters.

“You wouldn’t happen to remember who it was you spoke to?”

“Not the name. But it was young woman, I think. Had a bit of a high voice-“ 

“That’s what I was afraid of.” The clerk reached for the keyboard again. “We dismissed that particular employee around the time you booked.” She scanned the screen, her expression falling. “And unfortunately, it appears she forgot to add your reservation to our system before she left."

Greg covered his face with a groan. “So… I’ve got no room, is what you’re saying.” 

She nodded. “Normally, we’d offer you different one, but-“ 

“None left, right?” 

To her credit, the woman did look genuinely upset on Greg’s behalf.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Lestrade. We’ll refund your deposit, of course.”

Greg allowed himself a few seconds more of wallowing, then straightened. “Yeah, that’d be – thanks.” As the clerk worked, he asked, “Don’t suppose there’s anywhere nearby that might have a room?”

“Every where’s pretty full up by now. Same as here. I’ll make a few calls, if you like, see if there’s anything open. Cambridge isn’t usually that crowded for the holidays, but last minute on Christmas Eve-” 

“Nah, it’s fine.” Greg smiled weakly. “I’ll figure it out.”

His credit card was returned to him with a small flyer. “There’s this pub, just a few minutes away.” She pointed out the little map printed on the back. “I’ll let them know you’re coming. Sure they wouldn’t mind setting you up with a meal.”

“That sounds great, actually, um-?”

“Cecilia.”

“Cecilia, yeah. ‘Preciate it.”

“Drive safe, sir. I hope you’ll come back to us in the future. We’ll make certain you’re treated properly next time.”

Greg winced internally as he bent for his luggage. _Drive, right._ “Thanks,” he said over his shoulder. “I will.”

It was about a ten-minute walk, probably less if Greg hadn’t had his suitcase to drag behind him. Mostly a straight shot down one street that wound between several of the Cambridge colleges, chapels, and libraries. Rain had started, too warm still for snow. Something about seeing the decorations sagging under the water’s weight, fairy lights reflecting off the wet pavement, made Greg feel just as bleak and weighted down. He turned his collar up against the wind and wound through the occasional passerby, trying not kick himself just yet. At least not until he was somewhere warm with stiff drinks.

He found the pub down one of the smaller streets, marked by distinctive red doors. It wasn’t too crowded inside, thankfully, and rather cosy looking, probably more familiar to the locals than tourists. Lots of high-backed chairs, gentle lighting, and oak and burgundy tones. After a few words with the landlord at the bar, he was led back to an outlying table set in a nook in the wall. 

“Bit of bad luck, I heard?” the man asked, helping Greg scoot his suitcase under the table.

“It’s – more than a bit, t’be honest. Thanks,” Greg said, sitting.

“Order what you’d like. I’ll set you up with a drink, too. In the spirit of the season.” 

Greg sighed in relief. “Brilliant. Love a sausage and mash. And an ale, whatever you recommend.” As the man turned, Greg added, “Wouldn’t happen to know any open car rental places, would you?”

“Not off the top of my head. They’d be all closed at this hour anyway. You needing one?”

“Well, no place to stay, so thought it was worth checking. Probably try for a train back to London at this rate.”

The landlord gave a sympathetic nod. “I’ll give you a shout when your food’s up. Ale will just be a minute.”

Once alone, Greg let himself slouch back against his seat. 

Hot food would be a bit of a boost. He’d at least feel a little less sorry for himself. So long as his luck didn’t have another laugh at his expense and have him sleeping at the station because he couldn’t get a ticket. Fantastic holiday that would be.

Wasn’t so much to ask, was it? Quiet Christmas with time good and truly to himself now that the last of the t’s and i’s from his divorce were crossed and dotted. He hadn’t even wanted anything that spectacular; look at some Christmas lights, take in some history - local and personal. Watch a few terrible Christmas movies in his hotel room with take-away-

“Lestrade?”

Greg glanced up without really looking, half taking in the furrowed brow over autumn brown stubble. With the lack of a jacket and tie, Greg’s mouth was on its way to replying “Sorry, mate, I know you?” when it hit him.

“Myc?” Greg caught himself and stood, bewildered. “Mycroft? Bugger me-”

Mycroft’s eyes blinked into something warm, which crossed to his lips as a smile. “I thought it was you,” he said, reaching out a hand to shake, his palm cool against Greg’s.

Greg found himself grinning. “God, it’s been - months, hasn’t it? How’re you?” 

“Satisfactory,” he said, and it’s such a Mycroft answer Greg wished he could laugh without it looking like a jibe. “I’ve had quite a bit of catching up to do after my leave of absence ended.”

The way Mycroft phrased it was a little guarded, but not wholly worrying. Besides, he seemed well enough. Miles better than when Greg had seen him last; pale and quiet, a tight smile as he said goodbye to Greg at the door of his Kent estate. There was still a wariness to him, a caution more unconscious than purposeful. But his eyes were sharp, his manner composed. It was gratifying to see, all things considered.

“You actually got a holiday then?” Greg asked. “Look like you’re letting your hair down again.” 

“It was believed I was due another rest.” Mycroft’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Lax grooming is actually encouraged at times like this. Easier to keep a low profile.” 

“No tie, though? Going deep incognito?” 

Mycroft laughed, one of those small startled bursts of it. “Hell hath frozen over,” he said, running a finger over the top button of his green waistcoat. It looked soft. Cashmere, maybe. The dress shirt too. That there were stripes of multiple colours instead of just one was - satisfying to Greg, for some reason. “I rather enjoy those opportunities to let it.”

“It’s a good look on you.” 

Mycroft’s blank stare came with the worrying sense that Greg had just stuck his foot in it. “I mean,” he said quickly, “it’s good to see you getting a chance to relax, you know?”

_Shit, shit, sorry, making it awkward already._

“…Well, I–“ Mycroft lingered on Greg’s face, uncertain. “I’m not that good at it, truthfully. But I appreciate your candor. And you?” he asked, before Greg could press, “you’re taking your Christmas here as well?”

“Um, yeah, yeah. Parents used to visit over here before I was born. Thought it’d be nice to see it myself.” Greg gestured to the seat opposite his, hoping his efforts to avoid saying more weren’t horribly obvious to the most observant man on the planet. “You wanna join me for a bit? Be nice to chat again, if you’re not rushing off.”

A careful smile emerged, to Greg’s relief. “Yes, thank you.” As Mycroft settled himself in his chair, Greg excused himself to retrieve his ale, taking a liberal swallow once he’d sat back down. 

“So, you been here long?”

“Just three days so far. I’ve mostly been reading and revisiting one or two old sights.” 

“You went to Cambridge then? Won’t lie, pictured you as an Oxford man.”

Something about that seemed to amuse Mycroft. “I did do a bit of post graduate work at Oxford, but my family has closer ties to Cambridge. I was at King’s College for much of the time.”

“How many years was that?”

“Seven, though I had started work in my field even before I finished.”

“Christ,” Greg said, shaking his head. “Bloody wunderkind, you.” He caught the brush of pleasure across Mycroft’s face, glad that it still openly showed. 

The conversation paused again for Greg to grab his dinner. He also ordered Mycroft a whiskey as well, with some convincing. It made him feel less odd about eating while Mycroft had nothing for himself. 

“And what about you, Lestrade?” Mycroft asked after his first sip. “You just got in tonight, if I’m not mistaken?”

It was in how casually Mycroft asked the question that made Greg remember just who he was talking to. He sighed.

“How much have you already figured out?”

Mycroft’s expression shifted. “Less than you think. I try not to look too closely at people anymore. Not outside of my work. Not since-.” He sorted something around in his head, fiddling with the ring on his finger. “Your suitcase and general demeanor when arriving suggest an issue with your accommodations. The fact you are here at all and not currently driving back to London implies further problems with your transportation.” He met Greg’s eyes again, apologetic. “I went no further than that. I’d prefer to hear the rest from you. If you’d like to talk about it.”

Despite everything, Greg smiled. So different from those days just after Sherrinford; perched on Mycroft’s couch with Mycroft scrunched over at the other end, withdrawn and unkempt, glaring at Greg distrustfully from underneath the fringe of a large blanket.

_“I am - unaccustomed to ‘talking’.”_

_“So am I. Rubbish at it. Might as well give it a go in that case.”_

Come a long way, Greg thought. If only it hadn’t taken a hurricane going through their lives for him to finally try looking at Mycroft properly. 

“You got most of it.” Greg leaned forward, resting his elbows onto the table. “Car died just as I got here. Managed to get it to the shop, but they can’t do anything with it until after Christmas. Which was fine, since I was gonna be here that long anyway, but-“ He made a ‘you know’ sort of gesture.

“There’s been a setback with your hotel reservation?”

Greg smirked ruefully. “Pretty much, yeah. No room, can’t drive back. I’ll have to leave the car here and take the train back to London, and that’s if I can even get a seat.” He tossed back another mouthful of ale and indicated the landlord with a tilt of his head. “Think he’d let me sleep on a table if I asked nicely?”

Mycroft huffed a breath that may have been a laugh he was too polite to fully commit to. “Perhaps if you offered to wash dishes.” 

“Oh, you utter prat.”

Mycroft did laugh then, but it was kind. “I’m sorry you’ve had such difficulties.”

“Yeah, me too. Guess Christmas’s just not meant to work out this year.”

“…Gregory, perhaps-“

Greg blinked, softness squeezing around his heart. “Gregory? Haven’t heard that in months.” The feeling grew as Mycroft realised, a hint of colour rising in his cheeks. Seeing it felt like Greg had witnessed something rare.

“I - I’ve a suite at my hotel; it’s not far. It’s more than large enough for two.” Mycroft lifted his chin, grey eyes firm. “You could stay, with me. If you wish.” 

Greg stared for several seconds before remembering he had a mouth. “You – you serious?”

“Would I suggest it otherwise?” 

Giddy relief bubbled up, threatening to flood all sorts of nonsense out of Greg’s mouth. “I just – don’t want to put you out. Feel like I’d be in the way.”

“There’s a lounge separate from the bedroom with a sofa. It’s not much, but it’s comfortable enough.“ A flicker of unease entered Mycroft’s voice. “Of course, I could see about calling for a car instead, if you still prefer to return to London. It’d just take some time to arrange.“ 

That would have been the more sensible option to take. Mycroft was being overly generous; he couldn’t honestly want Greg mucking about in his personal space during what little time off he had. 

But something in Greg shrank away from the very idea. Mycroft’s offer seemed too much like a damn gift, one of the better ones Greg had been given in a long time. And he wanted it. 

Hell with it, Christmas and sensible didn’t mix anyway.

“Y-you’re really sure? I thought I was gonna be on a bench for Christmas Eve, and you just-“ Greg’s throat went tight. He gave a wobbly laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus, thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

There was no mistaking the gentle flush over Mycroft’s face. “I believe I do,” he said. He leaned back in his chair and smiled, looking quietly pleased. “Well, with that settled, perhaps you should have your meal? We can leave after.”

Greg suddenly remembered his appetite, and the food did look pretty good now that he could enjoy it. He grinned, picking up his fork.

“Yeah. But you better finish that whiskey if you want to get to the next one.”

Mycroft crooked a brow. “I wasn’t aware I was having a second.”

“Course we are.” Greg took a healthy swig from his ale and tucked in. “It’s Christmas, and we’re celebrating.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I meant this as just a little one-shot chapter, but the further I went, the more the story sprouted little legs in my head. I'll be adding more to this in the future. But it stands by itself just fine. :)


End file.
